Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother
by Magette
Summary: In which Uriel Septim has two daughters, a guard captain exacts his revenge, a hero is an overacheiver and the whole Oblivion Crisis is nothing but the stuff of historically inaccurate video games and a senseless old man's ramblings. AU, obviously.


**Disclaimer: I own as many rights to _Oblivion _as I do working moral compasses. Which is to say, none. Ha ha.**

**I have yet to see the purpose of author's notes except for witty comments that I can never hope to replicate and/or bitter self-loathing. There's nothing interesting to say about this, really. Read it, I guess? Oh, right, and warnings. Ahem.**

**WARNING/S: Contains an excerpt from a cheesy interspecies love scene that may or may not be homoerotic. And violence and stuff. Sort of. Right. Yes. Good. Okay.**

**Someone at the end of my street is endeavouring to set off illegal fireworks. This will result in someone having one fewer eye than he or she started out with, y/n?**

* * *

The morning is still and quiet; the sun only just beginning to rise over the Jerall Mountains to dust their pallid tips with a faint pinkish glow. The view from the Imperial City is spectacular, particularly if one resides on one of the various circular upper levels of the White Gold Tower; a luxury saved for the higher nobility of Cyrodiil. Only a select few of these nobility exist, however, and given the early hour most of these said few are fast asleep in their beds of fine Elsweyrian silk and eiderdown, oblivious to both the scenery and the hustle and bustle of servants below them.

The only sounds are that of the early tide lapping gently on the shores of the Waterfront; the incessant chirping of crickets and other small, visually unappealing insects; the whisper of the morning breeze ghosting softly through lush deciduous forest...

And then another, much quieter sound: the frantic scratching of a quill against parchment. It is coming from the general vicinity of the Imperial Palace - in the specific vicinity of the top floor of the White Gold Tower. The sleeping quarters of Catia Septim, much doted upon daughter of Emperor Uriel Septim VII. For the youngest of the Septim bloodline, however, 'sleeping quarters' is essentially synonymous with 'safe place to write tasteful interspecies love scenes away from the prying eyes of annoying older brothers.'

_Alasdair let out a roar like a wild beast. Taking four large strides towards the bed he threw himself upon Likes-It-Rough in a primal frenzy, causing the Argonian to shiver in lust-filled delight. Then he took his throbbing love wand and- _

"Catia?" There is a knock upon her door.

"I'm naked!" The princess screeches back with the practised ease of one who is used to such frequent interruptions. With lightning speed she shoves her limited edition 'Hello Impy' journal into the top drawer of her desk and dives towards the dressing robe hanging limply at the foot of her bed like a comatose skooma addict. She pulls it on over her sleeping clothes to give the impression that she is in a state of undress and sticks her head around the heavy oak door to glare sulkily at her visitor.

"I heard scratching," says her sister, Nereida, who can hear a rat's nose twitch from a mile away and see things that are to come.

"My arm was itchy," replied Catia, who can't do much of anything except lie exceedingly badly. Nereida isn't listening.

"Do you want to walk down to the markets today?"

"Have you asked father?" Catia opens the door wider. Nereida takes this opportunity to enter her sister's quarters and attempt to rummage discreetly through her belongings.

"No, I haven't. Nor do I plan on doing so."

"Are you going to visit that boy again? The tailor's apprentice?"

"No. I wanted to spend time with you." Catia stares at her older sister disbelievingly as she slides open a desk drawer nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"We're sisters."

"Couldn't we spend time together in the palace?"

"The palace is dull. What's this?" Nereida has found Catia's journal in the drawer she forgot to lock. The younger Septim darts forward with arms outstretched, but her sister is blessed with hatefully long, graceful limbs and apparently find it amusing to hold the book just out of Catia's reach, tilting her head back to read while Catia jumps up and down frantically, screeching in protest.

"_An Argonian's Wanton Lust_?" Nereida grins and reads silently as the youngest Septim attempts to climb onto her sister's back to reach the glittery journal. Finally succeeding, she wrenches the book from Nereida's grasp and shoves it back into her desk drawer, glaring reproachfully.

Her sister is still smiling. "_Throbbing love wand_?"

"I hate you. Go away."

"No. We're going to the markets."

"Say you're sorry."

"I'm very sorry." Nereida says. Then, as an afterthought: "I did think it was rather good, though."

"Really?" Catia's expression brightens.

"Of course. And to think I laughed when you said you wanted to be a writer."

The younger Septim smiles. Detecting sarcasm has never been one of her strong suits. "Thank you. I don't want to be a writer anymore, though."

"Really? Yesterday you seemed rather enamoured by the idea."

"No. I want to be a healer."

"We can stop by the apothecary, then, if you'll sneak out with me."

"Alright."

Nereida smiles fondly at her younger sister. "Wear your plainest dress, then. I'll wait for you outside."

* * *

Sometime later, Catia emerges from her bedroom. Nereida arches one slender eyebrow at her attire.

"_That's _your plainest dress?"

Her sister looks hurt. "So?"

A small sigh. "Nothing. People will likely recognise us anyway. Let's go."

* * *

It takes them a full hour to sneak out of the palace undetected by patrolling guards, including time spent trying to untangle Catia's hair from a shrub they have ducked behind to evade an unusually vigilant sentry. As Catia is very particular about her hair, this takes quite a while. When they finally manage to get into the city the apothecary is closed; a handwritten note hangs on the door to inform early-rising patrons that the owner has come down with a terrible cough and is currently unavailable.

Another ten minutes and Catia is pressing her face against the glass of the tidy little shop to better stare longingly at its well-stocked interior; her sister leaning against a lamppost impatiently and glaring at the little boy gawking at them from the window of an inn.

The sun is slowly but steadily climbing its way up past the city walls, and Catia reluctantly turns towards Nereida with a final, lingering look at the apothecary.

"Should we go back, then?" The elder of the two asks, taking her sister's arm and forcibly dragging her down the street. "We'll tell mother and father that we went for a walk in the palace gardens."

Catia nods, pouting, and allows herself to be towed along. There is no point, however; seconds later it is Nereida who will not move.

"Do you hear that?" She whispers.

"Why are you whispering?" Catia asks of her, only to be hushed immediately for her trouble. She tries again.

"Sorry. Why are you whispering?" She whispers. Loudly. Nereida puts one hand over her sister's mouth and uses the other to turn Catia's head towards the source of her distress – the Black Horse Courier.

Nereida has heard something behind the stone masonry of the news agency, and she says so to her sister. Catia's eyes widen until they resemble porcelain saucers. Or a pair of very large eyes. Either way, it is not a particularly attractive look.

Without a word the elder Septim darts into the narrow gap between the Black Horse Courier and a conveniently placed hedge, Catia following nervously in her wake. Two pairs of eyes rise up above the sill of an (also conveniently placed) window, both proud owners of said eyes more or less unaware of what is about to unfold.

Two figures, both painted in shadow, one lying down and one kneeling above him, both surrounded by flickering candles. The one flat on the ground has a distinctive pair of ears – one of the three Khajiit who run the business, then. The other's face is turned away from them, but what can be seen of his arms are moving up and down repeatedly and he is considerably larger than his seemingly incapacitated companion. Perhaps this is due to the bulk of the armour he wears.

Catia makes a small noise of surprise. "Nereida!" She hisses frantically. "One of the Khajiiti brothers must be mortally wounded! He has probably stabbed himself with a quill – a suicide attempt? Or perhaps it was an accident! One of the Imperial Legion must have heard the commotion and rushed in to save him, how brave!" She grabs her sister's hand. "Quick! We should see if we can help."

"If he had stabbed himself with a quill, then why on Nirn is that idiot soldier attempting to resuscitate him?" Nereida tugged her sister back under the window. "And you want to be a healer _why_, again?"

"It's my passion, Nereida. You're crushing my dreams! Let me go!" Nereida shushes her frantically and looks up through the window to see if they have been heard. Catia follows suit.

"Look, I told you! You can see the blood and everything – oh, _ew_." The youngest Septim turns several shades paler than usual and turns away from the window in order to make overdramatic gagging noises. So does her sister (minus the gagging) – but she does so for an entirely different reason. Grabbing Catia's arms, she shakes her none too gently.

"Catia, you s'wit, would you _shut up_ and let me listen!"

Catia does. Cutting through the sudden silence there is a low chanting, hushed but still loud enough for both girls to hear.

"_Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear."_

The candles flare up as the words are spoken, and it is so unexpectedly bright that in that moment both young Septims can see everything: the crinkled nightshade petals that litter the floor and the pool of crimson blood surrounding the one who appears to be sleeping. And yet he is not sleeping, nor is he a person – not anymore. There are pieces of a whole, certainly; flesh, blood, a heart, a skull, a pair of severed ears. But it is only an effigy; nothing but a husk of the living, breathing Khajiit it once was.

Nereida starts to get the feeling that something is very wrong.

"_Sweet mother, sweet mother..._" the voice is soft yet fervent, and it comes from the figure making futile attempts to resuscitate the empty shell below him. _No_, the elder Septim realises, _he is not trying to revive it_. Through the thick glass window she can plainly see the glint of candlelight upon a silver blade. The man is stabbing the effigy with a dagger – right through the heart which has long ceased to beat.

But perhaps most importantly, the two young Septims have seen the living man's profile in the flickering glow of the flames - and it is familiar to the both of them.

Nereida starts to get the feeling that something is very, _very_ wrong.

"Sweet mother of mercy," Catia breathes beside her.

It is none other than Hieronymus Lex.


End file.
